Fleeing the country for the better part of the week seems like a golden idea since in Bucharest hysteria boils as the heavy security measures taken to protect the honchos participating in the 20th NATO Summit effectively paralyze the city and strongly interfere with its moving swarms of anxious inhabitants.

So for the weekend ich bin ein Berliner. Well, ein temporary Berliner, at least.

Don’t expect anything other than camera-phone photos because—after eight years—I carry a film camera, again. Analogue. There’s no better place to do this.

Tschüs Tschüß!

From this:

To this:

Charming! An asphyxiating 50°C difference—more than enough to hate the latitude of 45° N.

It just ain’t right.

From Bangkok SkyTrain to Ratchaburi Floating Market boat.

Long-tail fishing boats on Kata Beach on Phuket island, away from the busy—and PR-rich—Patong Beach.

35°C: no icicles or snow, no icy wind, no steamy breath—except for air conditioning maniacs, maybe.

They call it Krung Thep Maha Nakhon—Bangkok for the rest of us.

Planes where business class is exactly the same as coach, seats dwarfed by the dimensions of real human beings, inedible in-flight meals and fare prices that obliviously feed armies of leech companies buying more political support than aviation gasoline.

Refurbished communist hotels run by lazy managers, italian-looking hotels built upon stolen concepts, plain vanilla hotels decorated by blind interior designers and a posh hotel designed by Gustave Eiffel himself were awful music harms the human soul.

Cheap wines, expensive wines, sleepwalking waiters with neon-reflecting eyes, cotton-padded brains and not even the distant memory of a smile.

Seriously high speed and no music, only the absolute awareness of tires pulling the distant city lights closer and closer.

Little hotel friends—Târgu Mureș, Transylvania, 2007.

There are ordinary sunsets and then there are exceptional ones, when the cruising speed makes rays of fading sunlight escape through ragged hilltops in perfect sync with the playlists’ moods cascading through the car speakers.

Leaving Copenhagen (and Denmark) and heading back to Amsterdam, I got to take a few shots on my way.

Windmills, hundreds of them in the countryside — when taking off a sea windmill farm with 20 windmills is visible just outside Copenhagen Harbor. Sorry I could not catch that.

Kastrup International Airport with its mind-boggling teak flooring — “impossibly efficient” as Wallpaper* reviews it. The photo doesn’t do it justice, it’s the nicest airport I’ve seen and the flooring gives it a very personal and almost cozy feeling despite its vast dimensions.

The 7845m Øresund Link bridge and tunnel combo joins the Danish capital to southern Sweden.

Now — back in Bucharest.

Copenhagen in a nutshell

I thought long and I thought hard about defining the essence of how I perceived Copenhagen, only to realize in the end that summarizing it’s not difficult at all. Here it is.

These are pictures were shot on the same day, the first one — through telephoto lens — on the remote bank of the canal, and the other one on my side, and they’re suggestive to me because they depict the two ends of Scandinavian — and especially Copenhagen — feeling.

The picture of Copenhagen Opera House reflects my sensation that the place is jammed with bold design, landmark architecture and advanced technology.

This is the country of Peter Bang and Svend Olufsen, of Arne Jacobsen (have a look at his chairs) and Georg Jensen (damn, I irreversibly fell in love with his Koppel Chronograph), of BoConcept, LEGO and, of course, the country of Stimorol, Carlsberg and Tuborg.

There is Illums Bolighus on Amagertorv 10, a four story temple of design houseware, a Danish design crash-course almost as comprehensive as Kunstindustrimuseet and certainly a commercial smash hit.

Speaking of Kunstindustrimuseet (Danish Museum of Art and Design), this is a place so special it deserves a post of its own.

On the other hand, the city manages to remain human, sweet and cozy. No tube, no traffic jams, in a no-hassle metropolitan environment with a population only slightly over the 1 million mark. People are riding their bikes everywhere, but everything is within walking distance in the central area if you are a determined walker. Many places look like holiday resorts, with tiny restaurants and small terraces one next to another, with colorful people and laid-back atmosphere.

There is Tivoli Gardens amusement park, with friendly butterflies and people screaming upside-down and there is Amagertorv, one of Europe’s most attractive shopping strips, a sweet, sweet poison for your bank account.

God, I love this place!

Aqua theme for today.

If yesterday I came face to face with a rainbow in Amsterdam, today I’ve met up with a friendly butterfly here in Copenhagen. He was fluffy like a kitten, so I was tempted to pet his back and see if he purrs, but he wouldn’t let me.

I have also seen the upside-down people, all screaming in terror and I felt terribly sorry for them. Maybe this is how they punish people around here when they look and act unreasonably normal. Because they do.

Delayed flight from Schiphol, just enough to allow for a short hide-and-seek play with a little rainbow stretching over the terminal.

Left eventually — passed in a hurry over the entrance in hell — and arrived to København — where I’ll stay for a few days.

A decrepit restaurant in an useless port to Danube, rusted tugboats, spicy fish and cold wine. Good fish. Good wine.

Who would’ve thought that being a designer involves so much talk and so much business travel?

Midnight enigma in downtown Moscow

Three nights walking the commercial boulevards in Moscow, three nights the horseback riders made their appearance. Girls on horses. Clip clop, clip clop, right on the sidewalks, among the midnight passers-by. On the first night one of them asked me for money — I didn’t have any money changed into local currency yet so I gave her nothing. Tough luck.

First night I was totally surprised and managed to take a shot only after they passed by.

Second night I wasn’t that stupefied anymore but the light was not so great.

The third night I managed to ambush them in front of a well-lit store window.

This all leaves me with a few unanswered questions.

What the hell was that all about, riding horses on downtown Moscow’s sidewalks? Are those girls walking their extra-large house-pets at night? Are they elite of tramps, the cavalry of beggars? Noblewomen? Is this posh leisure, green locomotion, fucking coolness, extreme-sport, fashionable eccentricity?

Regardless of what their story might be, the urban riders are — at least for me — part of brand Moscow.

Sure. Every car might be a cab!

Here’s the story. For four days, I’ve never took a taxicab in Moscow. For four days my guides used the following routine instead: raised a hand towards the cars riding on the first lane of the highway/boulevard/street and a car (often two or even three) stopped. After a very short negotiation we jumped in and we’re gone. Money changed hands, relaxed chatter happened between the fronts sits (in Russian) and eventually we were delivered at the destination.

They were not cabs. They were not previously hired rides. It was all kind of paid hitch-hiking!

You can use any car as a taxi

—It would take 30, maybe 45 minutes for a cab to show up with these traffic jams, they said. And who cares about taxicabs, anyway? We have our own scheme. You can use any car as a taxi. 100% efficient: no phone calls on hold, no waiting. Arm raised, cars stop. Better.

—Well, I replied, every capital has taxis and I never — not ever — seen something like this.

—Yes, but this is Moscow, they replied. This is our way.